In Good Taste
by acertainzest
Summary: An AU Caskett meeting at the grocery store.


_A/N: This was written for a prompt from the castlefanficprompts blog: "AU. I saw this guy trying really hard to hitting on you in the wine section, so I came in your rescue and now look we bought the same wine how about you save your money and share a bottle?" I've been in a bit of a writing drought lately, so thanks to the anonymous prompter for the inspiration._

* * *

"No, thanks, I'm fine." The woman's voice floated over the racks full of grocery items and caught Rick Castle's attention as he browsed for tomato sauce.

"You sure?" said a male voice. "Some of these shelves are pretty high."

"I can manage," the female voice replied, tinged with irritation.

"I'd be happy to help out a pretty lady like you," the man persisted, and Rick rolled his eyes, thinking, _really?_

"I said I'm fine," the female voice reiterated, and even from the next aisle over Rick could sense the warning in her tone. The dude should cut his losses at this point, he thought. Then again, a guy using phrases like _a pretty lady like you_ on random women in the grocery store probably wasn't particularly attuned to the subtleties of feminine vocal expression.

Sure enough, the unseen man wasn't giving up. "Hey," he complained, "you don't have to be like that. I'm just trying to be friendly."

"I'm not being like anything," she answered, and now her tone was unmistakably annoyed. "I'm just trying to do my shopping."

"Listen-" the man began, but Rick had heard enough. Grabbing the first can he saw from the shelf, he swung his small shopping cart around the corner, already talking, calling out to the unseen woman.

"Hey, honey, did you find the wine you wanted?" he asked. "I got the tomatoes for the sauce, and the spaghetti, and the..."

He trailed off as he came fully around to the other aisle and saw the woman and man staring at him.

Wow, she was hot. Rick could see why this other guy had decided to hit on her. She was tall and slim, impeccably dressed, with short brown hair, chiseled cheekbones, _gorgeous_ eyes ... and, at the moment, a murderous glare leveled directly at him. He held up the can in front of him in self-defense.

"...toppings," he finished his sentence belatedly, flicking a glance over to the other man. Yeah, this dude was definitely not in this woman's class. Sweatpants, a dirty Knicks t-shirt, cheap sneakers? Who did he think he was kidding?

Rick looked at the woman again. Her eyes were still narrowed, but now her lips were pursed in what he suspected was an effort to hold back a smirk. When she saw him looking at her, she cut her gaze significantly toward the can in his hand.

Startled, he turned the can toward him and really looked at it for the first time.

Oh. Oops.

"No, _honey_ ," the woman said, and her tone could have taught a master class on sarcasm, "I don't want canned peaches on my spaghetti, thanks."

"Uh. Grabbed the wrong can. Sorry," Rick said, flashing his charming smile. The one that had almost always worked on Gina, up until things fell apart.

The woman blinked, and looked at him again, cocking her head to the side, a small frown creasing her forehead.

Rick made a show of noticing the other man, still standing awkwardly behind the woman, looking as out of place as a children's book illustrator at a horror novelists' convention. "A friend of yours, sweetie?" he asked cheerfully, giving the guy his best friendly smile. The other guy blanched and took a step backward.

"Nope," the woman said shortly, turning her back on both of them to resume perusing the wine racks.

"Must have been a mistake," the other guy mumbled, and fled.

"You can say that again," Rick chuckled to himself. He turned to put the can of peaches back on the shelf, then paused, thinking about it. Actually, maybe peaches would be an interesting addition to his tomato sauce. Would they play well with the oregano? He put the can into his cart, just for the heck of it.

Oh. The woman was still watching him out of the corner of her eye, suspicious.

She was incredibly hot, and normally Rick would have jumped at the chance to flirt with a woman like this. But he wasn't going to be that guy - the guy who threw himself at her when she had just managed to get rid of the other creep. He knew how that would look. So he merely gave her a polite nod and turned to look at the bottles of wine lined up on the shelf.

A nice red would be good, he thought. This one? No, he had tried it last month and been unimpressed. This one? No, he wasn't in the mood for something quite so dark. Ah - that one! He liked it, and it would go well with the spaghetti, and there was one bottle left.

He reached for it.

She reached for it at the same moment.

Their fingers brushed, and Rick felt a sizzle that brought a grin to his lips. He turned to meet the woman's eyes again.

"I'm sorry," he said, still smiling, because he was beginning to feel the hand of fate directing this entire encounter. "You go ahead."

"No, that's okay," she demurred. "You can have it."

A flash of light by her hip caught his eye, and he glanced down to see that her jacket had ridden up when she reached for the wine; the material parted enough for him to see the badge clipped to her waistband.

"Oh my god, you're a cop?" he gasped. "That is _so_ cool." He gawked unashamedly at the insignia. "That's a detective badge. Are you packing right now? That would've been a great way to get rid of that creep."

"It's against regulations to draw a weapon in a non-emergency situation," she snipped, dropping her hand so that her jacket once again covered the badge. "And no, I'm not armed right now. You should count yourself lucky," she added, quirking an eyebrow significantly.

"Ooh." He grinned even wider, delighted. "You can't draw your weapon, but you can threaten? Fair enough, Detective. Listen," he went on, closing his hand around the bottle of wine, pulling it off the shelf, "why don't you save your money and share this with me?"

Her narrow-eyed glare was back. "Are you propositioning me?" She folded her arms, looking truly intimidating. She must be a great detective, he thought. "What was that guy, your wingman?"

"Please," Rick scoffed, offended. "Who brings a wingman to the grocery store? Anyway, I don't need cheap tricks like that to pick up women. I do just fine on the merits of my charming wit and ruggedly handsome good looks." He preened ostentatiously, striking a pose with the wine bottle.

The woman tried, she really did - he could tell she was trying very hard not to let her amusement show. But his goofy antics won her over, of course. Her cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink as she ducked her head, turning her body partially away from him in an effort to hide the grin that she couldn't quite suppress.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a gorgeous smile?" Rick asked, putting the bottle into his cart. He saw the beginnings of another glare, and went on hastily. "Look, I'm making this spaghetti and opening this bottle of wine either way, so you might as well join me, right? Unless you had other dinner plans?" he added, glancing at the shopping basket over her arm, which was empty save for a microwave-ready soup container and a mini baguette.

She studied him for a long beat, so long that he was almost convinced she was going to turn him down. He could easily imagine that stony, assessing gaze working well for her in the interrogation room. Already he felt the urge to confess all sorts of embarrassing misdemeanors before her calculating glare.

"No," she finally admitted, reluctantly, rolling her eyes. "No other plans."

"Great, then it's settled." His pulse thumped excitedly in his chest. He reached over and plucked the baguette from her basket, placing it in his cart instead. "I would be honored to have you for dinner tonight, Detective…?"

"Beckett," she sighed, accepting his outstretched hand. "Kate Beckett. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Castle."

"Please, call me Rick," he said smoothly, shaking her hand, even as his inner child was jumping up and down with a wildly enthusiastic double fist-pump. She knew who he was! That had to mean she was a fan. The hand of fate was at work here indeed. He was sure of it.

"No peaches on the spaghetti, though, right? You weren't serious about that?" she asked, frowning down at the can of peaches in his cart as they began moving toward the cash registers at the front of the store.

"Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it," he replied, bouncing on his toes. "You never know what you might like if you just give it a chance."

"Uh huh," she murmured skeptically, biting her lower lip, and oh god that was hot. He wanted to be the one to bite that lip. And anything else she would allow him to bite. It had to happen, didn't it? Clearly the universe wanted this to happen, and he respected the universe.

 _There I was among the canned tomatoes,_ he imagined himself telling his grandchildren, _and your grandmother was in the wine aisle being hit on by this lowlife, whom she totally could have handled herself, of course_ , and he could already picture the way she would huff and shove his shoulder, _but I nevertheless felt duty-bound to jump in and help her extricate herself from the situation, after which my natural charm won her over, and the rest is history._

 _"What does extricate mean, grandpa?"_ he imagined a small child asking, and suddenly he broke out of his reverie and realized that the woman - the detective - Kate - was already standing at the cash register, looking back at him with a quizzical smile and a sardonically quirked eyebrow.

"You comin', Castle?" she asked, her voice low and rich with amusement, and he jerked into action, rushing to join her.

"Oh yeah. Definitely."


End file.
